Buttons
by HeyItsMJ
Summary: Or, the evolution of a romance. Kataang


**Feeling down in a writer's dump, I asked for prompts and requests on my LJ a few weeks back. My good pal the_flowergirl had a perfectly awesome request.**

**…Leave it to me to screw it up. **

**But I hope she enjoys it anyway (and if not, I owe her one awesome fic :P ).**

* * *

_Thirteen and fifteen_

* * *

"That was—the most awful—_ugh!_—party I've ever—" she stretched her arm desperately, trying to reach the long line of silken ties down her back, "and I can't—_believe_—Sokka actually—said that—to the _Ambassador!_"

While she struggled, Aang remained collapsed on her bed, still unable to talk because of the intensity of his laughter.

"He's such—an _idiot!_—I'm almost—embarrassed we're related—stupid dress!" Giving up, she flopped down next to him. "And stop that!" But his laughter was infectious, and soon she couldn't help but giggle.

Big mistake. Even the smallest spurt of chuckles made the dress feel two sizes smaller than it already was. Soon Katara was half laughing, half wheezing.

"Oh goodness—I can barely breathe in this thing!" She rolled to a sitting position, and once more began the battle with the garment. Aang, finally collected, sat up and after watching her futile struggle for a few minutes, interjected.

"Okay, you're only going to strangle yourself doing that. Here." He motioned for her to turn, and began picking at the clasps himself. She gathered her hair out of the way of his hands as she continued to denounce her brother, Aang snickering at her monologue.

When half of the buttons were undone and Katara had room sufficient to breathe normally, both quickly took note of the situation.

And jumped back a good three feet.

"I—it's—uh—I can do the rest myself, thanks!" she jumbled out, crossing her arms behind her back in order to hold her dress together. Before she could blink Aang was halfway out the door.

"Well then I'll see you tomorrow! Goodnight!" He gave a small wave before shutting the door loudly, and she could hear his footsteps as he walked as fast as he could without breaking into a run.

The seconds slowly ticked by as she just stood, waiting until all sounds had gone from the hall completely. Then Katara slowly crossed the room, to stand in front of the mirror.

Just as she suspected, her face was equally red as Aang's.

* * *

_Fifteen and seventeen_

* * *

He winced as her foot came down on top of his, hard, yet again.

"Sorry!"

Ignoring his throbbing toe, Aang forced a smile. "It's alright. And for the tenth time, go _left_ first."

She took her hand off his shoulder to frantically smooth back her hair. "Okay, left, right."

"No, _left_."

"I said that!"

He sighed, "Alright. Ready? And one—" They took a step backward, "two—" and to the side, "three—turn…"

He took slow, deliberate movements while she copied tentatively, slowly speeding up the pace as other couples moved out of the way, either out of politeness or out of fear for their best shoes.

But instead of stepping on him, this time Katara tripped over the hem of her dress and lurched into a nearby governor. After apologizing at least thirty times and successfully extracting the wine from the stain on his robe, she took Aang by the arm and fled to the opposite corner of the ballroom.

"Oh, shut up!" she hissed as he laughed. "It's not me, it's the dress! Stupid thing doesn't fit at all; I've been stumbling all night!"

"I didn't notice."

She glared. "You're not funny."

"Neither is my pain," he pointed to his feet. "You owe me one _long_ healing session. I'm surprised I could even walk straight after that fifth turn."

She crossed her arms, looking away. "Alright, so _maybe_ I haven't danced in a while." He raised an eyebrow. "A _long_ while. Still, the dress doesn't help. It's too long…and too tight…and I don't like the color much…"

He was silent. Katara fiddled with her skirt, refusing to look at him full on, meaning without a doubt she was blushing. Finally, her eyes darted up and he spoke out.

"I think you look fine."

"Oh," she looked back down, but not before he caught the pleased expression she was wearing, "you always say that."

"I think you look _beautiful_," he caught her cheek with his lips, "and I always mean it."

She smiled brightly and returned the kiss. They spent the rest of the song just gazing happily at the other, before Katara gave the dance floor a meaningful look.

He sighed. "Fine. _One_ more dance. And you're responsible for any broken toes."

* * *

_Seventeen and nineteen_

* * *

They were pressed so tightly together she thought his mouth would leave bruises on her own. What wasn't touching him was taut against the wall; at this point, only her back. She bent away from it to take his hands and pull them up from behind her knees to the neat row of silk buttons the wall was forcing against her spine; the buttons had held her dress in place, that she very much wanted him to unbutton.

The hint went unnoticed, but he continued to explore her mouth with his tongue and her body with his hands, making her moan at the raw heat that was running up her thighs and making her heart pound against his chest. Unable to stand it any longer, she finally twined their fingers and worked through a few clasps in example.

He pulled back suddenly.

"K-Katara, I don't think—"

"What?" she cut in, a little disappointed. "We're old enough. And no one will miss us for an hour or so..."

Even in the dim light, he visibly blanched. Now, she was more insulted and heartbroken than disappointed.

"Don't…don't you _want_ to? Don't you want…_me?_"

He laughed shakily, "Of course I do! It's just…" he let her slip from his hold and slide down the wall until she stood on her feet, "that I never really thought of losing our virginity in a _closet_."

She blushed, glancing around at the shelves.

He had a point.

"How about a compromise?" he took her chin in his hand and tilted her head up to his. "Find a more, uh, _suitable_ spot and…we will. When we're _ready_, we will," he smiled. "Your demands now?"

After consideration, she grinned.

"We skip the rest of the party."

Very soon, they were back to their previous positions.

"Fair enough," Aang said against her mouth. "It was horribly boring, anyway."

* * *

_Nineteen and twenty-one_

* * *

Absentmindedly, Aang drew lines in his head, connecting the points of light into their constellations. He triggered the practice down to his hand, tracing shapes on Katara's palm and twirling paths in her hair.

"It's warm out tonight," she whispered, breath brushing his neck.

"Hmm," he hugged her closer, "and the sky is clear. You can see all the stars."

She rolled over, and he let go of her to point out the groups of stars. She listened to the old Air Nomad myths, and traded for some of her own stories her grandmother had passed down.

Then again, the night was filled only with the sound of their soft breathing.

"Aang?"

"Yeah?" he began retracing the stars on her hand again, taking care to get each line exact.

"Thanks. For missing the party with me."

He chuckled and kissed her hand. "No problem."

She grinned, playfully shuffling closer. "And Aang?"

"Yeah?"

"My dress feels a little too tight."

He threaded his hands through her hair once more, whispering against her cheek, "I'll help you with the buttons."


End file.
